me with a grin.
“Well, that’s honest.”
“I’m always honest. Lying is for the weak.”
“Or the desperate,” I feel honor bound to tell him.
“Perhaps.”
There’s no perhaps about it. Never has been. I wouldn’t be here, living the life that I am, if I had any other reasonable alternative.
“Look, can we cut to the chase here? I only have a few minutes before I have to get back to work.”
“Absolutely. Let’s cut to the chase.”
I wait for him to say something more, for him to tell me why I’m really here, but he just leans back in his chair, ankle crossed over the opposite knee, and watches me with eyes that see far too much.
I recognize what he’s doing, try to wait him out, to prove that I have as much self-control as he does. But the clock is ticking and with every minute that passes, my stomach grows tighter, my palms damper. I hate the feeling, hate the loss of control that he’s forcing on me. But I hate even more the fact that I might have to leave here without the answers I so desperately want.
“I already told you I’m not going to sleep with you,” I tell him after the silence stretches longer than I can handle.
“You did.”
“So why am I here? Why are you even bothering with me?”
“Does everything have to be about sex?”
I laugh then. I can’t help it. The question is ridiculous, especially considering the sexual tension between us burns hot enough to light up half the hotels on the Strip.
“It doesn’t have to be, but in my experience it usually is.”
Displeasure flickers in his eyes, on his face, but it’s gone almost as soon as I register that it’s there. And then we’re back to waiting and watching each other silently.
“You like your job,” he finally says. I’d congratulate myself for making him break the silence, except I’m learning that Sebastian never does anything he doesn’t want to do.
“I like the money it brings in.”
“Is that all you like about it?”
I’ve never really thought about that before, about whether or not I like the job I’m doing. I like not being under my father’s thumb. I like being away from the violence and the darkness that is a way of life for my family. I like making my own way in the world, even if it is precarious. But the job itself? Do I really like it?
“It’s not bad,” I hedge. “It pays the bills and I’m good at it.”
“You are good at it,” he agrees. “But you could be better.”
“Oh, really?” Now I’m insulted. Maybe it’s the overachiever in me, the girl who always made top of her class—even at one of the most competitive universities in the world. “And how is that?”
“You lack control.”
“Excuse me? I’ve worked here for over a year and last night was the first time I ever lost my temper.”
“I didn’t say you lacked self-control.” He inclines his head, narrows his eyes at me until I feel like I’m being toyed with. “I said you lacked control.”
He drains his beer, sets it aside. Then he stands up and reaches a hand out for me. I start to refuse—I’m annoyed and the last thing I want to do is touch him right now. But there’s something in his face, something in the way he looks at me that makes my stomach flip and my breath catch in my throat. That makes me think it would be a very bad idea to refuse the hand he extends to me.
So I take it, allow him to pull me to my feet. Then I let him walk me over to the huge picture window that makes up the entire back wall of his office. It’s nine o’clock and darkness has finally come to the desert. Not that you would ever know that if you were thirty flights below us on the Strip, where the lights burn so brightly that most days it feels like you’re at the top of the world where the sun shines twenty-four/seven.
Sebastian is behind me again, his long, powerful body pressed to mine from shoulder to knee. He’s warm and solid and—despite everything I’m thinking—it feels so right to lean against
“Well, that’s honest.”
“I’m always honest. Lying is for the weak.”
“Or the desperate,” I feel honor bound to tell him.
“Perhaps.”
There’s no perhaps about it. Never has been. I wouldn’t be here, living the life that I am, if I had any other reasonable alternative.
“Look, can we cut to the chase here? I only have a few minutes before I have to get back to work.”
“Absolutely. Let’s cut to the chase.”
I wait for him to say something more, for him to tell me why I’m really here, but he just leans back in his chair, ankle crossed over the opposite knee, and watches me with eyes that see far too much.
I recognize what he’s doing, try to wait him out, to prove that I have as much self-control as he does. But the clock is ticking and with every minute that passes, my stomach grows tighter, my palms damper. I hate the feeling, hate the loss of control that he’s forcing on me. But I hate even more the fact that I might have to leave here without the answers I so desperately want.
“I already told you I’m not going to sleep with you,” I tell him after the silence stretches longer than I can handle.
“You did.”
“So why am I here? Why are you even bothering with me?”
“Does everything have to be about sex?”
I laugh then. I can’t help it. The question is ridiculous, especially considering the sexual tension between us burns hot enough to light up half the hotels on the Strip.
“It doesn’t have to be, but in my experience it usually is.”
Displeasure flickers in his eyes, on his face, but it’s gone almost as soon as I register that it’s there. And then we’re back to waiting and watching each other silently.
“You like your job,” he finally says. I’d congratulate myself for making him break the silence, except I’m learning that Sebastian never does anything he doesn’t want to do.
“I like the money it brings in.”
“Is that all you like about it?”
I’ve never really thought about that before, about whether or not I like the job I’m doing. I like not being under my father’s thumb. I like being away from the violence and the darkness that is a way of life for my family. I like making my own way in the world, even if it is precarious. But the job itself? Do I really like it?
“It’s not bad,” I hedge. “It pays the bills and I’m good at it.”
“You are good at it,” he agrees. “But you could be better.”
“Oh, really?” Now I’m insulted. Maybe it’s the overachiever in me, the girl who always made top of her class—even at one of the most competitive universities in the world. “And how is that?”
“You lack control.”
“Excuse me? I’ve worked here for over a year and last night was the first time I ever lost my temper.”
“I didn’t say you lacked self-control.” He inclines his head, narrows his eyes at me until I feel like I’m being toyed with. “I said you lacked control.”
He drains his beer, sets it aside. Then he stands up and reaches a hand out for me. I start to refuse—I’m annoyed and the last thing I want to do is touch him right now. But there’s something in his face, something in the way he looks at me that makes my stomach flip and my breath catch in my throat. That makes me think it would be a very bad idea to refuse the hand he extends to me.
So I take it, allow him to pull me to my feet. Then I let him walk me over to the huge picture window that makes up the entire back wall of his office. It’s nine o’clock and darkness has finally come to the desert. Not that you would ever know that if you were thirty flights below us on the Strip, where the lights burn so brightly that most days it feels like you’re at the top of the world where the sun shines twenty-four/seven.
Sebastian is behind me again, his long, powerful body pressed to mine from shoulder to knee. He’s warm and solid and—despite everything I’m thinking—it feels so right to lean against
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